Rainbow
by KiraKira-Kirimi
Summary: I never expected to see him again. Themed story: Rainbow – one color per chapter. Noah x Cody SLASH. Noah POV. On OFFICIAL hiatus until December.


**Rainbow**

**Chapter 1 – Red (Blood)**

**Summary: **I never expected to see him again. (Themed story: Rainbow – one color per chapter.) Noah x Cody SLASH. Noah POV.

**Author's Note: **I wrote this while I was at my Japanese immersion camp; I didn't have much time at all, but as I didn't want to get rusty, I started a new story. Therefore, this story is not very well-written. I hope you enjoy anyway.

Wheels squealed against pavement, and the sudden, strident noise made me jump in shock. But before I could begin to search for the source, a sickening _crunch _rang in the air, followed by a cry. Heart pounding, I spun on the spot.

A dark van was screeching away, swerving recklessly through traffic in its mad rush to escape. Horns honked indignantly, but the van paid it no attention. At the moment, its main priority was all-too-obviously to get as far away as possible from the body that lay unmoving on the sidewalk, and it didn't have any time to spare for something as mundane as traffic laws.

Unfortunately, it was I who was closest to the fallen man. In most cases, I tried to avoid such situations as I was easily the least desirable aide in the area, but as those around me converged, I was unwillingly dragged with the tide. I fell to the ground at the man's side, forced to my knees by the onset of the crowds – and suddenly, _I _had taken the position of aid-giver. With no other option before me, I leaned carefully over the man, calculating the severity of his injuries.

The man was tall and lanky, and his pale skin was dotted with freckles. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing easily; had I not just seen him be hit by a car, I would have thought him simply asleep. His lips were slightly-parted, and I could see a large gap between his front two teeth – but as there was no blood anywhere, it couldn't have been a result of the accident. In fact, as far as his injuries were concerned, he was remarkably unscathed. Granted, his mop of hazelnut-brown hair was rather mussed, and he had a number of small scratches crisscrossing across his face and hands, but there were no gushing lacerations or visibly-broken bones. The man was extraordinarily lucky.

I frowned, tapping his shoulder. "Excuse me, sir? Are you alright? Are you conscious?" I hadn't really expected him to respond, but as I turned to demand that 911 be called, the man suddenly stirred.

He groaned weakly, and his eyelids fluttered slowly open. He gazed around his surroundings as if completely and utterly bewildered as to how he got there, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Wh-what?" he murmured. "What happened?" He frowned, but his gaze was oddly hopeful – trusting, really – as he peered his personal peanut gallery.

"You were hit by a car, sir."

Drawn by the sound of my voice, the man stared up at me, his eyes widening in shock. Mine did as well; I was suddenly struck with the sense that I should know this man, that, somehow, this man would be as important to me as he had been in the past. Of course, that was utterly nonsense; how could a man I couldn't remember have ever been important to me? Even if I had known him, I clearly never cared much for him.

But I couldn't deny that he was familiar; there was just something about his soft, blue eyes and gap-toothed smile that I could've sworn I'd seen before. And as he stared up at me with his friendly, trusting expression, I was struck with the oddest sense of déjà vu that simply took my breath away.

"I was . . . hit by a car?" the man echoed, seemingly oblivious to my predicament. "For serious?"

As if I needed any more proof that I'd known this man, his obviously-faux teenage slang made my head reel in a desperate attempt to remember who the _hell _he was. But I grit my teeth, forcing my features to the most apathetic expression I could muster. "Yes, you were," I confirmed. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I think I'm fine."

I was not won over by his dazed, wavering tone. "Are you sure?" I pressed. "How many fingers am I holding up? What's your name?"

"Um . . ." the man frowned, concentrating. "You're holding up three fingers. I'm Cody – Cody Anderson."

And suddenly, I knew where I'd seen this man before. My chest tightened, and I squinted at him as if suspicious, struggling to calm my expression. It had been so long since I'd seen him last that it was no wonder I hadn't remembered earlier – I'd been only sixteen at the time, after all.

"Cody . . . Anderson, hm?" I echoed firmly. Recognition or not, the most important thing was keeping him well.

Cody nodded.

"Well, then, you sit still. You seem all right, but we're calling an ambulance anyway. We want to ensure you don't have a concussion."

"Okay," Cody murmured resignedly. He smiled at me kindly as if it were _I _who was hurt, and I frowned uncomfortably. I hate feeling under obligation.

"Is there someone I can call?" I asked him. "Family?"

Cody's expression suddenly darkened, the optimistic light in his eyes suddenly vanishing with his smile. Intrigued, I raised an eyebrow. There was clearly a story I didn't know, and as I'd expected, he simply answered: "No. I'm fine."

I did not press, although curiosity was beginning to eat at me desperately. Such a reaction from _Cody _of all people deserved respect and space – and when it came to giving people space, there was no one better than me. I don't mean to sound conceited, of course, but when an introvert on the verge of Asperger's Syndrome grows up with eight elder siblings, you learn that kind of thing.

Digressions aside, it wasn't even as if I had time to harass Cody about his secret family disaster; the crowd of onlookers had become utterly unmanageable. They converged around us, morbid curiosity disguised by well-wishing, and even as I shot them down with well-placed glares, they returned in droves.

"What happened?"

"Is he okay?"

"Didja get the license plate?"

"Need any help?"

The questions whipped around my head like a thoroughly-irritating hum, and as much as I tried to block them out, they refused to cease. Rubbing my temples in desperation, I trained my eyes on the sidewalk below me. Cody I could deal with, and maybe one or two onlookers, but the hordes were honestly too much for me; if I wasn't obligated by those stupid "Good Samaritan" laws to continue aid, I would have gotten the hell out of there as soon as I could get to my feet. But as the legal system stood, I could only remain glued to the sidewalk, missing work by every second.

Cody noticed. Just as I'd read the regret in his eyes earlier, he read the frustration in mine. A slight smile returned to his face, and I glowered at him reproachfully; I honestly didn't trust whatever his wannabe popular antics may be.

But Cody did nothing. He didn't tease me, and he didn't bring attention to my discomfort. He simply offered me a sympathetic smile, unwittingly showing his extraordinarily childish dimples. I admittedly found it somewhat cute, but I was too dubious of his innocence to care. He was the center of attention at the moment, and it would be all-too-easy for him to subtly ridicule me for his own advantage; it was a well-known fact that the most popular people were those who were the best at poking fun at others. Cody was no idiot – and if he still clung to his old, ever-irritating dreams of being "popular", he would realize that this was the perfect opportunity. Cute or no, I'd never approved of – or trusted – his social aspirations.

Yet, Cody did nothing prove my suspicions correct. Frustrated and guilty, I crossed my arms and willed the ambulance faster. I probably should have chatted with Cody to keep him calm, but if you haven't realized at this point that I'm not good with social interactions, you're probably on the brink of monkey intelligence. Besides, Cody had plenty of other irritating onlookers to chat with and make feel helpful. It wasn't as if I were sharing a corny, romance-movie moment with him.

Thankfully, the ambulance did not take long to arrive, and I suddenly found myself shoved aside by overzealous EMT's. But then, just as I fell back into the midst of the crowd, Cody's gaze locked on mine. My stomach lurched, suddenly swarming with emotions I haven't felt for almost a decade, and I almost didn't respond when he gave me a small wave. It was only by sheer miracle that I managed to even nod in acknowledgement.

The sirens eventually faded away, and the crowd slowly began to dwindle. Ostensibly apathetic, I dissipated with them, trudging as reluctantly as always to my dingy office cubicle, but my thoughts never left that little square of cement on which I kneeled before Cody. During the few blocks to the office alone, I was nearly run over twice for my lack of attention – and that wasn't to count the innumerable times I trod on someone's toes or clipped a shoulder.

Inwardly, I was furious at myself. I should not have been so deeply affected by the simple encounter, and nothing could excuse my immature reaction. I was, after all, known for my business-like manner that ended so many potential friendships. Yet, I found myself unable to edit the manuscript lain before me; I was a thousand miles away, and only after reading a sentence ten times could I finally interpret it's meaning. I tried to focus – I honestly did. But nothing seemed to work. Meditation was only a temporary relief, lapsing back into distraction after mere seconds, and coffee did absolutely nothing at all. I even took my first break in over a year, but my mind grew only more wild as a result.

Perhaps it is therefore understandable why I finally caved into my newfound obsession, or, more likely, I am simply trying to excuse my less-than-appropriate business behavior. Either way, the moment the clock struck five, I stood up from my desk, leaving behind so much unfinished work that had I been in my proper state of mind, I would have sickened myself. I hardly noticed where I was going; my feet had predestinated my path, and I was simply too preoccupied to care. It was only when I was standing on the front steps of the hospital did I realize that my feet, in fact, did share the same ideas as my infuriatingly-distracted mind.

I heaved a heavy sign and gave up all resistance. The sensible thing would have been to turn on my heel, proving myself above meager impulses – but I was honestly sick of resisting myself. When it came to self-control, I had very low stamina.

Let me just clarify now that I am _not_ referring to lust. Granted, infatuation involves at least some degree of lust, but it's not as if I was "horny"; I wasn't planning to vent sexual frustration on Cody, or indeed, do anything at all. For God's sake, Cody was in the hospital! I despised people who found one-night stands acceptable – or even desirable – and the very idea of non-consensual intercourse on a patient was enough to make me feel nauseous. Therefore, the following scene is appropriate for the eyes of impressionable minors.

I wasn't even sure if Cody would be in any shape to talk to me, but I don't think the thought crossed my mind as I asked the secretary for his room number. Truth be told, I hardly think _any _thoughts crossed my mind at the time. I simply found it easier to blank out everything rather than face the unfortunate reality that I seemed to have lost my mind. Thankfully, however, my oversight didn't hold any negative effects later on, as the moment I walked in, Cody's head jerked upwards in obvious delight – but I think I would have been just as pleased had it been I confined to a fully-uninteresting hospital room with only day-time TV for entertainment.

"Hey." I twisted my lips into a slight smile, and although I was positive that I'd been actually anything _but _warm, Cody returned the favor with a broad grin.

"Hey – you're the guy that saved me, right?" he asked.

So he hadn't recognized me from those many years ago. I couldn't blame him really; other than competition, I'd never meant anything to him. Regardless, my stomach twisted in irrational disappointment. "Well, I didn't really do a thing for your welfare," I corrected him. "But if you'd count checking you for consciousness, I suppose I am."

"I'll count it." Cody winked – he actually _winked_. I'd thought that was the kind of thing you grew out of at twenty, but apparently not Cody. "Thanks so much – for that _and_ visiting me. You have no idea how boring this hospital is."

I shrugged. "Probably more interesting than my evening would have been otherwise. Besides, now that I think of it, wasn't I supposed to bring flowers or something?"

"Nah, it's fine." Cody laughed. "My allergies wouldn't have thanked you for it."

"Oh, that's good then."

An uneasy silence fell over the room; we were strangers, after all, and we didn't have the benefits of experience to draw upon for conversation. When most people visited others in the hospital, it was with stories of how much friends and family were missing them, and how life just wasn't the same without them. But I didn't know anything about Cody's life, and I could only _assume_ he had family and friends. Besides, had it been anyone else, I could have asked if they'd had any notice from home, but I sensed that was delicate topic with Cody. The weather just wasn't much of an alternative either.

In the end, it was Cody who broke the silence. "So, um, how would your evening have been boring if you weren't here?"

"Well, you know . . ." Again, I shrugged. "Some television, a microwave meal, and bullying telemarketers. The highlight of my social life."

"You don't have anyone at home?"

"Not even a pet – unless you count the dust bunnies."

But instead of laughing as I'd hoped he would, Cody suddenly fell quiet and dropped his eyes to his clenched fists. My grin fell; I never failed to disappoint myself by my lack of social skills. Of course, Cody had been hoping to comfort whatever hidden hurt he was nursing by indulging in stories of my family – and by making light of loneliness, I'd only made him feel worse.

"Hey, Cody . . ." I ventured guiltily.

He never looked up from his hands. "Dust bunnies aren't much company, are they?" he murmured.

"Not really, no."

Cody's lip twitched, but his smile was false and pained. "I don't know why I'm telling you this – I mean, I hardly know you. But I really don't have anyone, myself."

"Gee, no cards, no well-wishers, no teddy bears? I would have never guessed." To be perfectly honest, I was rather taken aback that he was telling me at all, but my mouth had always run on its own motor – hence all the trouble I seemed to get myself in.

But, thankfully, Cody didn't seem too offended; he let out a hollow laugh. "Yeah, I guess it's kinda obvious, isn't it?" he replied.

"A little. So, did you just never find the right person or something?"

"No . . ." Cody's voice quavered, and I suddenly felt my chest clench in sympathy. Loner or not, I couldn't help feeling terrible for him; he was a good guy, and it wasn't his fault he couldn't find his way in the world.

"No, you didn't find the right person, or no, that isn't right?" Honestly, why couldn't I rein my tongue in? The last thing he needed was to be pressed!

"No, that isn't right. I found the right person, but last month, I lost everything."

I wanted to laugh. Perhaps it was rude and insensitive of me, but I just couldn't imagine Cody with anyone, not after I'd seen him stumble fruitlessly after Gwen those many years ago. Thankfully, however, I had just enough sense of compassion to bite my lip and redirect my gaze – that way, he wouldn't see the slight pang of envy that smoldered in my eyes.

"Lost everything?" I echoed. "How so?"

Cody pinkened, and I suddenly felt my jealousy replaced by deep curiosity. "Um . . ." he murmured. "I don't know how you're going to react to this . . ."

"Yes?"

"Well . . . I came out to my wife as bisexual."

My breath caught in my throat; I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Granted, even if Cody had the potential to be attracted to men, it didn't mean he'd necessarily like _me_, but I couldn't stop the thought from slyly crossing my mind. And even if I wasn't going down that path, it was just a shock. I mean, honestly, who'd have ever thought that Cody the flirt would have been anything other than straight?

It was times like this that I was extremely grateful that my mouth could run on its own; it saved me a number of awkward silences as my mind digested the information. "Were you worried I was homophobic or something?" I heard myself say. And when Cody nodded meekly, a chuckle bubbled up from my throat. "You know, I'm _gay_."

Did I say I was grateful that my mouth had a mind of its own? I take that back; I wanted to _murder_ it.

"You _are_?!" Cody gasped. "I mean, that's fine – but _really_?"

"Yes, I am," I replied stoically, secretly plotting the downfall of my own tongue. "But I don't understand your family problem. If you're bisexual, you can still be with your wife, can't you?"

And as the conversation came back to the source of his pain like a boomerang he just couldn't get rid of, Cody's face fell. "Oh. You'd think so. But she's Evangelical Christian, and she threw me out of the house – and she won't even let me see my own daughter."

"Well, that's just not nice. But – wait, you have a _daughter?_" At this point, I was beyond laughing; I could barely form words, I was so shocked. Perhaps I was simply stuck in the past, but I honestly _could not_ imagine Cody as a father to anyone. It was just so odd to think of him changing diapers, playing peek-a-boo, and reading Dr. Seuss – not that he wasn't capable of any of that, but it was just . . . odd.

However, when I pressed him about his daughter, Cody's face lit up, as if radiating its own light. "Yeah, I have a daughter," he replied. "She's six years old, and the cutest little girl on the planet. And she's, like, a genius, too."

I tried to swallow my disbelief, but I didn't succeed particularly well. I just could never understand how proud parents could only see an angel when they looked at their child, and my natural skepticism never made it any easier to accept. That wasn't to mention that I _still _couldn't see him as a father. "What's her name?" I asked.

"Paige," he answered, as if the word was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Inwardly, my sarcasm and sense of decency were engaged in an epic battle of wills, but in the end, it was my sense of decency that won out – if only by a narrow margin. "Oh, that's nice," I managed to reply with a smile. "You must miss her."

"I do," he agreed, his tone suddenly soft. And when I met his eyes, I realized he was struggling not to cry. Well, that was just peachy; my efforts at comforting people had always been extraordinarily pitiful, and I highly doubted it would be any different this time.

Nervously, I chewed my lip. "Um, yeah. I'm really sorry about that."

Oh, that _totally_ would have made anyone feel so much better. Good Lord, I really failed at sentimental conversation.

But Cody just shrugged. "It's alright. The courts will help me, and I _do _visit her secretly sometimes – like at her school."

"Oh."

"But what about you? Why are you alone?"

Well, after that sob-story, I'd feel rather guilty admitting that I was on my own by the result of my own sheer will. How was I supposed to tell Cody – who was still aching from his loss – that I was perfectly content mocking lifestyles like his own? I grimaced at the mere thought.

But thankfully, a nurse bustled into the room at that very moment, her arms sternly crossed. "Out," she snapped at me. "Visiting hours are over."

"But –," Cody protested.

"No buts. You need your rest."

"I'm not even that hurt!"

"It's fine," I assured Cody, turning to leave as I spoke. "You'll be out tomorrow anyway – and you won't die of boredom in the absence of my scintillating conversation."

Cody looked dubious. "I might," he replied. "Oh, but wait – do I get to know you as anything other than 'my savior'?"

"My name's Noah," I told him – I didn't mention my last name on purpose, hoping that if he heard my name the way he'd heard it in the past, he'd be more likely to suddenly remember who I was.

No such luck, however. "Noah, is it?" Cody parroted. "Okay – and what about your phone number? I'd like to keep in touch."

He may not have remembered who I was, but being asked for my phone number was a rather fair exchange, if I do daresay myself. I had to struggle to conceal a slight grin as a rattled off my cell number for him to copy down, and when I finally stepped back onto the street, my heart was lighter than it had been in years.

**End of Chapter One: Red.**


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